


Whispers

by JonathanWolfe (Lucifer_Milton)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Ben is a muscled emo goth kid, Gen, Hux is the uptight know-it-all with the sharp outfits, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I never thought I'd write unhappy fic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide, Triggers, Unhappy Ending, tall but smol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Milton/pseuds/JonathanWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**Please read the tags carefully!**</p><p>And watching Hux cry Ben finds himself, for the first time in his life, regretting what he’s done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aiambia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiambia/gifts).



> If you haven't read the tags, then be aware there are triggers involved with this story. So please go back and read them carefully.
> 
> Thank you so much to my lovely friend cylin for lending me her eyes to beta this, I could not have achieved this without her help.

It’s a clear, sunny day and there’s a gentle, cool breeze blowing through, helping to temper the heat outside. It’s pleasant compared to the chill of the past few days and Ben takes the time to soak up the sun, turning his face towards the sky as he stands on the front steps of his house. Waiting for the familiar flash of orange to turn the corner down the road and begin its trek towards him.  
  


It’s the best part of Ben’s day, seeing Hux. Seeing that ridiculous scowl aimed at him, the twitch of annoyance even as the clear sea green of his eyes betray Hux’s own delight when Ben comes loping down the stairs, a crooked grin plastered on Ben’s face.  
  


When Ben catches up with Hux on the crumbling sidewalk, matching his stride, the usual snide remark about Ben’s ridiculous clothing choices escapes Hux’s lips, all clipped and accented words. Black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, black boots, black beanie, everything's black and Hux scoffs at Ben and shakes his head.  
  


Ben's pretty certain that if he came out one day dressed all in white, Hux would die of shock.  
  


On cue Ben retorts about how particularly uptight Hux looks today, like he’s managed to cram that stick up his ass just a few inches higher than usual. He catches the hint of a barely repressed eye-roll and grins. It's a comforting routine of jibes and insults, something they’ve long grown used to.  
  


Ben talks the entire way to school. Yammers on with little bits of input from Hux here and there, but otherwise the lanky boy is quiet, listening attentively even though he likes to pretend that he isn’t.

 

* * *

 

When they reach the school Hux goes abnormally silent and stares down at his feet. All around them the students are staring and Ben stares back, confused, his gaze shifting from one person to the next. There’s an unease steadily growing inside of him.  
  


“Hux, why are they staring?”  
  


“It’s fine.”  
  


Ben turns back to him, brows drawn up with confusion beneath the spill of his hair.  
  


Hux doesn’t look up at him, but he does repeat himself, “It’s fine.”  
  


He hates it, but Ben let’s it go. He turns to glare at the students around them and usually it’s enough to send them scattering, because everyone’s afraid of the tall, bulky goth kid, but this time it’s like they’re looking right through him. It unsettles Ben, and he wants to smash their faces in for making him feel off kilter, but he grudgingly turns and follows Hux into their first class.  
  


The staring doesn’t stop and eventually the whispers start up.  
  


Hux ignores them and Ben wants to say something but he knows that Hux is capable of taking care of himself when it comes to rude people. If it becomes a problem then he’s certain Hux will ‘rectify the situation’, or whatever fancy thing Hux would call it.  
  


So Ben does as he always does: lays his head on the folds of his arms and takes a nap. It’s blissfully silent when he falls asleep and he feels like he’s effortlessly floating through a cloud. It’s calming, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this relaxed in his entire life.  
  


He’s woken up by the sound of shuffling bodies as the students stand from their seats. Ben glances around in sleep-addled confusion, surprised that the teacher hadn’t strode by halfway through class and shaken him awake like usual.  
  


“Ben, you really shouldn’t sleep through class. You won’t get to look at my notes again.” Hux says as he shoves his books back into his leather shoulder bag.  
  


Ben rolls his eyes and stretches out his long limbs with a pleased grunt, ignoring the way a few of the students, who are standing closest to them, turn and stare, “Bullshit, you always let me cheat off of you.”  
  


Hux smiles, a small twitch at the corner of his lips. Ben matches it with one of his own.

 

* * *

 

On their way home they’re silent. Hux’s gaze is trained on the dip and rise of the concrete sidewalk under his fancy shoes. Usually Hux is rather vocal. Well, not as talkative as Ben, but he almost always has some scathing remark on whatever is going on around them or if Ben says something particularly banal, but today he’s been withdrawn.  
  


Only then does Ben realize that Hux hasn’t looked up at him once the entire day.  
  


“Hux, are you okay?” Ben asks. He bends over to try and catch Hux’s eye.  
  


Hux seems to ignore Ben and without preamble asks, “Do you want to come over?”  
  


Ben’s caught off guard by the question and he’s left to stare after Hux, paused in the center of the sidewalk in shock.  
  


Hux has never asked him to come over. He’s always had an excuse, usually something to do with his father.  
  


Ben has seen Hux Sr a handful of times at the school and had always gotten the impression that the man wasn’t friendly, so Ben had never pushed, even though he'd really, really wanted to. He’d always wanted to see what Hux’s room was like, to know if he was just as anally retentive with his bedroom’s organization as he was with his bags, his locker and, well, practically everything else about him. From his carefully parted hair, to his meticulously picked out clothing, and even down to his well polished dress shoes.  
  


Ben doesn’t want to seem too eager but he can’t help the way he runs full sprint to catch back up with Hux, “You’re serious?”  
  


“I knew you were wanting to see my room.” Hux scoffs a little, turning his head away so Ben can only see the edge of his lips where they’re turned up in a slight smile, “You talked about it all the time, idiot.”  
  


“What about your dad?”  
  


“Don’t worry about my father.”

 

* * *

 

When they get to Hux’s house Ben follows him through the front door and up the stairs, not really caring how the rest of the house looks like, though he does note that it’s rather stately looking. No, what he’s most curious about is where Hux is leading him.  
  


“My room is the one at the end of the hall,” Hux says as he walks down the length of it and pushes open a solid white door with Ben following close behind. Beyond the gentle slope of Hux’s shoulder lies a modestly sized room, filled with sharp lines and painted in crisp, clean colors.  
  


Where Ben’s room looks like a disaster zone in the fallout of a nuclear explosion, Hux’s room is meticulously organized and nearly sterile; everything is placed neatly in its designated spot and not an inch out of place. Even his bed covers are tucked neatly in with crisp, sharp corners reminiscent of military style.  
  


It’s exactly as Ben had imagined it.  
  


A soft amused smile pulls at his lips as he follows Hux in, who is barely paying attention to him as Ben moves around the room, trailing the ghost of his touch, hovering but not quite touching, over the linear surfaces. Ben’s almost afraid the entire room will fold in on itself and implode if he allows himself to touch anything, so he ends up shoving his hands into his pockets. When he’s had his fill he turns back to Hux and stares at the back of the boys head, grinning at the sunburst colored hair where it’s starting to come free of its gelled imprisonment.  
  


Everything is modern and streamlined, except for the desk Hux has sat himself at. It’s old and ornate, a deep mahogany that’s rich in color. On its surface is a mess of papers, clippings, cutting tools, and a fold out foam board that’s been laid flat. Their project for history class, if Ben recalls correctly. Hux had taken it upon himself to finish the last bit of it after Ben had done most of the researching. The excuse had been something about how Ben’s design skills left something to be desired.  
  


Hux is bent over it and Ben knows that if he were to walk closer, he’d see that intense look on his face, the one that screams ‘I’m concentrating and if you interrupt me, I will end you’. That doesn’t stop Ben from creeping closer to hover over his shoulder though. And the project looks good. Hell, it looks _professional_ and Ben’s pretty damn sure they’ll get top marks on it.  
  


Hux carefully applies glue to the back of a clipping, “If you had done it, it would’ve looked like shit.”  
  


Ben laughs at that. He isn’t going to deny it though, because chances are he would’ve just slapped everything on the poster board with sticks of shitty school glue and called it a day. “Thanks, asshole.”  
  


After that Ben settles next to him and watches him work, listening to Hux’s ongoing commentary as he methodically aligns each and every piece as if he’s following an invisible guideline. It’s when Hux gets close to finishing that things start to go weird. All of a sudden there’s a lot more glue than there should be. The edges of the clippings are no longer ruler straight. The scissors in Hux’s hand shakes, causing uneven edges as he cuts them out and slathers glue on the backs, patting them down randomly with seemingly no care at all.   
  


It’s worrisome how Hux has broken his stringent need for order in favor of screwing up their project with the sort of sloppiness that is more becoming of Ben, but when Ben leans forward to get him to stop Hux’s words begin to waver. There’s a strained smile pulling at the corners of Hux’s lips and Ben is shocked when he notices the tears.  
  


“Hux?”  
  


Hux doesn’t answer. He keeps rambling on as he haphazardly slaps the glue soaked clippings onto their presentation, keeps going despite the trail of tears now streaming down his pale cheeks, framing the tremble of his mouth. The words begin to fade away into faint whispers of sounds, each more broken than the last until Hux goes deadly silent.  
  


Ben is starting to freak out, because he’s never seen Hux cry. At least not like this. There had been one time when Hux had snuck in through Ben's window in the middle of the night, covered in bruises. Hux’s cheeks had been damp when he’d slipped into Ben’s bed, but Ben hadn’t commented on it. Knew it best to just leave it be even when he’d wanted to know who, what, and why, though he’s certain he could guess as to the ‘who’.  
  


“Jesus Christ Hux, what is going on?” He asks with a desperate fear and a need to know, because he can’t stand seeing Hux so vulnerable and torn. Can’t stand watching him fall apart when _Hux_ is the one who’s supposed to be strong and infallible. Ben leans closer to grab Hux’s shoulder, his arm, _anything._ But when he does Ben’s hand passes right through, disappearing into the line of Hux’s slender shoulders.  
  


“What…” Ben stares, wide eyed at where his wrist cuts off. He slowly withdraws his hand and steps back, staring down at them both where he holds them out, palm up, with a choked sense of rising fear.  
  


_It’s warm where the blood falls, but his body is growing colder with every drip, drip, drip. His vision swims, swallowed by the encroaching darkness until all sound fades away into a blissful silence and he knows no more._  
  


There on his wrists are two vertical wounds, bloodless and dark, one deeper than the other. Ben realizes then why Hux is crying; why it looks like the world itself is on the verge of collapsing from underneath him.  
  


Because it is. Because Ben is dead and Hux is alive and Ben remembers it all too clearly now: the fight with his parents, the suspension from school, the threat of being sent away, the feeling of worthlessness, of crippling depression, and the fear of letting everyone down come to life.  
  


Ben remembers the blessed slide of cold steel down his wrists - _vertical right?_ \- aiming to cut deep, to cause the most damage.  
  


Remembers the ebb of warm liquid pulsing from his wrists and falling to the floor in crimson splatters.  
  


Remembers how the coolness of the bathroom tile had seeped into his skin, slowly consuming him until every last bit of warmth had bled away.  
  


“Why?” Hux asks, pulling Ben’s attention back. His voice is torn somewhere between anger and a despair so intense that it makes Ben flinch, “Why did you do it?”  
  


The project suddenly goes flying off the table with a sweep of Hux’s arm. A bellow of rage follows and it’s raw and pained, tearing up from his throat. Ben steps back and watches uselessly.  
  


Ben’s never seen Hux this angry. Has never seen him indulge in the kind of furious rage that Ben was usually a victim to. Hux had always been the cool and collected one; the one who’d take any and every insult with a straight face and turn it back around on the hapless fool, who’d thought they could get under Hux’s skin.  
  


But this, this frightens Ben as he watches the room being torn to shreds. Watches Hux push his bookshelves over, the meticulously categorized books spilling all over the floor. He tears at his bed covers and pillows, moves to the shelves and his closet until Hux rips through everything. Until one can’t see the bleak color of the carpet underneath the spread of books, papers, broken glass and bits of drywall from where the screws in the shelves were ripped out.  
  


Hux finally stops, stood before the one thing he’s left untouched in the storm of destruction he has wrought: a lone cork board, decorated with black and white etchings and neatly written notes.  
  


Ben watches Hux raise a hand and slip a few of his slender fingers beneath the edges, folding them back almost reverently, as if Hux has done it many times before. A flash of color catches Ben’s eye and there hidden beneath their layers is a photograph. It’d been the only photo they’d ever taken together. It hadn’t even been them who’d taken it, but a friend of theirs who’d snapped it unknowingly and given it to them later. Hux had kept it; had pinned it to his corkboard amongst all his clippings of complex algorithms and technological designs.  
  


Out of sight like a closely guarded trinket.  
  


Hux’s fingertips brush along the bottom edge, tracing up the side to carefully pry it loose. He stands there and stares at it with his back facing Ben. But Ben can still see it from where he stands.  
  


They’d been at the local coffee place to meet up with a friend who’d come to visit. It hadn’t been the sort of place that Ben was keen on going to, but Hux had insisted ( _actually, Hux had literally dragged him along_ ). He could remember having said something particularly sarcastic during their time with Hux’s friend ( _Phasma, he thinks?_ ) and Hux, who rarely found anything funny at all, had thrown his head back and laughed, gasping for breath. Ben had been caught with how Hux’s grin had stretched wide, the way his eyes had crinkled and the flush of pink that had risen along his pale cheeks.  
  


Ben had wanted to kiss him right then and there in front of everyone; in front of the whole world. To capture Hux’s lips and soak up that warmth he so rarely expressed and keep it all to himself. He’s almost certain that Hux wouldn’t have minded if he had. But he hadn’t and looking at the photo now Ben sees the reminder of that desire in the way the light has been captured in his amber eyes, the lines of his frozen lopsided smile and the soft expression on his own face as he had watched Hux laugh.  
  


He suddenly, desperately, wishes he had. Wishes he could turn back time and steal that moment back and do it right. But he can’t. _He can’t._ And he feels so broken and lost and angry at himself and at everything around him, but he can’t bring himself to do anything but stand there with his arms limp at his sides, ignorant of the wet warmth on his own cheeks.  
  


Hux grips the photo in his hands and draws the pad of his thumb over the glossy surface. The edges are starting to tremble as Hux begins to shake again, and with a pained sound he begins to tear it to pieces. On instinct Ben steps forward to try and stop him - _you idiot!_ \- but before he can all the rage disappears from Hux as he drops to the floor to chase after the fallen fragments, gathering the shredded pieces together with trembling hands. He scoops them into a pile with a breathless cry, a litany of soft ‘no’s’ spilling from his lips. There’s regret there in the way he looks down at them with wide eyes, gasping harshly as if he’ll start sobbing again.  
  


And watching him cry Ben finds himself, for the first time in his life, regretting what he’s done; for taking that razor to his wrists and leaving the one thing he cared most about behind, alone and forgotten. Left to a washed out existence in a cold and dismal reality that he’d promised that they’d face together.  
  


_‘You’ll stay right? The two of us, together?’_  
  


_‘Where else would I go?’_  
  


_‘I’m being serious, Ben.’_  
  


_‘So am I. I’m not planning on going anywhere, Hux.’_  
  


_‘Do you promise?’_  
  


_‘Yea, I promise.’_  
  


Ben watches helplessly. Unable to reach out and touch his best friend, to curl around him like they used to do on the end of the bed, to clutch the slender line of Hux to his chest and breathe in the scent of his hair.  
  


“You left me,” Hux whispers, the words stretched thin as he cups the remnants of the photo in his palms, “you promised you wouldn’t.”  
  


_I’m sorry._  
  


“You promised.”  
  
  
_I know._

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: High School Ghost AU – Hux and Ben go about their day as they usually would, insulting each other, talking and sometimes laughing. They go to Hux’s house to finish a project, and Ben doesn’t stop talking while they work. But plot twist! Ben’s been dead this whole time, and Hux doesn’t know that Ben’s been following him around. His “talking” to Ben is really just Hux trying to cope with Ben killing himself, and watching Hux cry, Ben wonders why he did.


End file.
